Undercurrent
by kim-onka
Summary: Wadanohara, her three familiars, and the absence which defines them in more ways than they would like to admit. (Fukami cannot bring himself to resent any part of Wadanohara; so he just hates Samekichi all the more instead.) / Fukami-centric.
Finished the game a week ago, internally imploding over SameWada cutenes... so of course I had to write something depressing.

Enjoy.

* * *

It wasn't Wadanohara who told them.

(No-one starts the subject with her, if it can be avoided; they can't bear to see the way her face falls and the light goes out in her eyes.)

It was Tatsumiya who relayed the story; the story, and the short, distressed silence which spoke of deep concern and regretful inability to comfort the Great Sorcerer's daughter.

(Since then, Fukami has learnt all and more about this kind of silence.)

(His, however, is of a different manner: as fervid as it is contained.)

The rest of it doesn't need to be told, for it is impossible to miss.

* * *

It happens every once in a while, brought about by the most trivial occurrences: she's reminded of him.

Wadanohara tries to hide it, not wanting to worry her familiars, perhaps not wanting to admit how much it still affects her; but they know. Everyone knows.

She looks vulnerable then, and lost. She is restless; she wanders from place to place, staying nowhere for too long, she seeks company only to excuse herself moments later, fidgets, stares into space.

She turns the ocarina over in her hands, and wonders what happened, what went wrong, and when; was it her fault? why wouldn't he say? what, and why, doesn't she remember?

( _Where is he?_ )

( _Samekichi…_ )

(...Will it happen again?)

Wadanohara _does not understand_ ; it didn't make sense for that to happen, and so she wishes she could make it not have happened.

(She's never really said so, not in so many words; what she says is, _I'm fine._ )

(But Fukami knows.)

* * *

Samekichi hurt Wadanohara, and that would be enough by itself.

But it's not all.

She's not angry at him.

Fukami has never seen Wadanohara angry; he can barely imagine it, so alien it seems for the young witch. Yet he thinks he would like to see her angry at Samekichi.

(Maybe then he, Fukami, could be a little less angry.)

(But it's a selfish thought he quickly banishes.)

Whenever the shark is brought up, it is not anger Wadanohara shows; it is pain, it is sadness, it is confusion, it is apprehension.

She doesn't understand why he left.

She doesn't understand why he left her.

She believes, however, that there is something to understand here; that there is a reason which would make her comprehend, and make it all well again.

She's not angry; it's as if she doesn't blame him.

She doesn't know how to blame him.

The look of loss in Wadanohara's eyes, the brittleness of her smiles, the way his absence is at times almost physically detectable, the hold he still has on the girl he abandoned, and the faith she still has in him – these are the reasons why Fukami hates the shark so vehemently.

(And why he's so careful not to show it.)

* * *

The two little familiars sense when something is amiss, and react in their own manner.

Memoca covers her unease with anger, she bristles and snarls, _how dare the stupid shark hurt Wadda, I'll show him!;_ she doesn't understand why Wadanohara holds her back and tells her to calm down, for surely, she should be happy to have such a fierce protector, shouldn't she?

Dolphi simply starts crying, she sobs and whimpers, _scary shark, scary, hurt Wadanohara, don't like,_ _waaah_ _, sca-a_ _a_ _ry shaarks…;_ she doesn't understand why Wadanohara insists that she is wrong, that sharks are not bad, for surely, she should know best that they _are_ , shouldn't she?

And Fukami sets aside his own fury to calmly yet firmly contain the girls, because he can see their antics upset their mistress; and he never lets it show that, in actuality, he agrees with them.

(If he takes the girls away, he doesn't have to hear Wadanohara defend the shark.)

* * *

Memoca and Dolphi are only children; they do their best to help Wadanohara, but in truth, it's mostly her taking care of them, and Fukami reflects that she probably likes it this way.

She probably feels safer this way.

They are children, dependant on her; they are not likely to vanish without a word, without explanation, into the huge ocean full of scary places and dangerous creatures that keep them awake and clutching to their mistress at night.

They are young enough to need Wadanohara – in the most literal, practical sense of the word – much more than she needs them, and that, he thinks, even if she doesn't realise it herself, gives her a sense of comfort.

Fukami himself is another story.

* * *

 _Please take care of Wadanohara_ , Tatsumiya told him, _she needs someone, especially after-_

Fukami knows.

It's ironic, really.

He's not a replacement for Samekichi; he's sure Wadanohara has never thought of him that way, and asked, she would deny it.

And it would be the truth.

And if he _were_ a replacement – that ought to make him resentful. Nobody wants to live in another's shadow, right? Everyone wants, and deserves, to be loved for themselves, right?

Yet Fukami finds himself wishing he could fill the gap Samekichi's departure has left in Wadanohara's life – so as to make her happy, he thinks to himself, so she wouldn't miss the shark anymore – so he wouldn't have to suffer her longing for the shark, he admits silently.

(He dreams of throwing the ocarina away and Wadanahora never noticing the loss.)

But it's impossible, and futile, and Fukami turns the accursed instrument over in his tentacles and regrets everything he cannot do for her.

(He's not a replacement, but that's mostly because no one could ever replace Samekichi.)

(He's inadequate to be a replacement.)

* * *

It's rather telling, if one is inclined to overthink these things.

(Fukami is.)

The trio of familiars are, between them, everything Samekichi was not; and they cannot be what he was (what he was to Wadanohara).

The witch loves each of her familiars, honestly and dearly, with all the courage of one once betrayed; but the hole in her heart is not healed, and the knowledge weighs on them.

(They are not enough.)

(It's unfair, really; to them and to Wadanohara alike.)

* * *

Wadanohara plays the ocarina, and Fukami listens.

The music is as beautiful as it is sad, and he cannot bear to see the wistful look on her face, nor the faint glisten clinging to her lashes; and he turns his gaze elsewhere, anywhere but to the witch, to the vast sea and the serene moon and the little fish and the green seaweed and the entranced girls, because he is afraid he might snatch the ocarina from Wadanohara's hands and smash it.

And that is why it is Fukami who notices a shark's fin protruding from behind a rock.

And he doesn't say anything.

He never does.

He stalls his anger, hides his indignation behind a blank expression and lets the traitor listen; so as not to upset Wadanohara, he tells himself, she does not need to be hurt again.

(There is something else: a vengeful triumph in Fukami's heart, that he can sit there, with her, listening openly, when Samekichi cannot; _see, this is what you had and threw away, shark._ )

(And yet even that triumph is false, for the ocarina was the shark's gift and the young witch would gladly accept him back; and Fukami knows that, deep inside.)

* * *

Sometimes Fukami wonders how it would've played out if he'd met her before (met her first).

Before she was wounded by someone she trusted, back when she was as happy and carefree as she is now trying to be, but genuinely.

(Before she learnt to need Samekichi so much.)

He feels angry, then.

It would've been better if it'd been him.

He would've been better for her.

He still could, he thinks, if she would only let go-

(He wants to erase the shark's image from her mind; he wishes she'd want that, too.)

(Fukami cannot bring himself to resent any part of Wadanohara; so he just hates Samekichi all the more instead.)

* * *

There's one more triumph: Wadanohara relies on him.

As her familiar, to aid her, to take care of Dolphi and Memoca… There are times when he wonders how much it costs her, to trust him so.

(And whether he truly deserves it.)

Fukami is very careful not to show anything that might discourage her trust – not to show anything to suggest it might be misplaced – not to show _anything_ – not because he plans to betray her, but precisely because he _doesn't._

(And he fears he may already have.)

(It's ugly, what festers inside of him; most of all, he fears she might see it and turn away in disgust.)

(So he remains silent.)

(They are quite similar in that respect.)

* * *

.

.

.

* * *

In the end, he is proven wrong, and she has her explanation.

In the end, he betrays her again – and then he proves (to himself) that she is right to rely on him.

In the end, they are enough.

(The last feeling of vile triumph as Wadanohara finally allows herself to cry in his arms gives way to steadfast, quiet resolve: he'll be there for her, and provide her with what she needs.)

(She was right to trust him.)

(He is enough.)


End file.
